


Michael In The Bathroom

by smolfluffqueen



Series: Prompts [3]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: M/M, There is NO FLUFF HERE, blame tumblr, dont come after me ok, im sorry, my username is misleading, only angst and tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 11:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11576847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolfluffqueen/pseuds/smolfluffqueen
Summary: What if the pounding Michael heard on the door was people trying to get him out of the bathroom because the house was going up in flames?





	Michael In The Bathroom

**Author's Note:**

> I was up last night writing this (I shouldn't have been doing it because I just had eye surgery like two days ago) because doctors orders be damned, I'm writing this angst. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, as they give me honeybuns and memes.

Michael was tired.

Not the kind of tired where you stayed up too late watching tv or playing video games-because, no, his life couldn't be that easy- it was the special kind of exhaustion that stayed with you, haunted you for days, weeks, months, even years before you either learned to cope or got help- which was the right option, or so he was told, because he didn't have the best track record when it came to doing the best thing available, usually convincing himself that he was okay, that he could do this himself- but eventually, after living with it and not fighting, Michael had given up.

He was tired of living, plain and simple.

Depression was something he had dealt with for most of his life, the burden being easier because Jeremy was always there, reminding him about medication, appointments, and helping him come down from panic attacks. Sure, he knew how to do all of those things by himself, but knowing he had a support system- no matter how small- helped more than words could ever describe.

But then Jeremy was gone, and it all fell apart.

Michael sat, hunched, cold, and wet- partially from his own tears, partially from the cold water he had thrown in his face to try and calm himself down, soaking the front of his shirt- in a sleek, polished bathtub. He sniffled, absentmindedly picking at a few clumps of grout, rubbing at it with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Outside, he could hear music, loud and invasive, but Michael ignored it, focusing all of his attention onto picking slowly at the grime buildup.

After a few minutes- it could have been hours, time seemed different in the bathroom- or so it seemed, someone knocked at the bathroom door, frantically, roughly jiggling the silver door knob. Michael ignored it, barely sparing the door a glance. Then the knocking came back, louder than before, pounding, seemingly boring into his head, filling his ears with sound he had ignored minutes ago. Music still screeched, but nobody sounded like they were dancing.

Through the door, he heard a girl scream, barely audible through the constant thrum of pop music pumping into his ears. Michael curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and rubbing his nose on his jeans, leaving a streak of snot on the denim. Again, the innumerable hands hammered on the door- and for a moment, it seemed like it was going to break under the force- frantic, the screams of his classmates now higher pitched and more frightened than anything. The teenager ignored them, wiping away the steady stream of tears from his face and onto his sleeve.

He smelled the smoke too late.

It seeped in from everywhere- through the cracks in the door, the air vent- and by the time he noticed, the pounding on the door was gone, as well as the music. Outside, it was oddly silent.

More smoke filled the room, entering Michael's lungs and making him feel overwhelmingly dizzy. He knew what to do in the case of a fire- the high school had a fire safety assembly just last week, he had gone with Jeremy, the two of them both making lewd jokes about the fire hose- but he didn't care enough to do anything. This, he decided, wasn't the worst way he could go out.

Sure, it was painful, dizzying, and most of all, cowardice-the one thing he had been using against himself when it came to contemplating suicide, making himself focus on the good things, like Jeremy, or what he was going to do with Jeremy, or how he and Jeremy we're going to live together in college, forever close. All of it had to do with Jeremy, and now none of it held any meaning, or held any cause for Michael to care.

And so, Michael sat, alone in the bathtub, breathing in the thick, grey smoke, and briefly wondered if anyone would remember him, care, or mourn him- truly, not that fake "he was only my science partner, but I felt we were close" bullshit, really actually care about what happened to him, how he died, and what he wanted in life. As he felt himself slip into unconsciousness, feeling the heat of the fire upon his face-too close for comfort- he figured that no, nobody would, because the one person that knew him didn't care about him anymore, not really, and Michael couldn't bring himself to be angry-no matter what, it was still Jeremy, to him, at least-not even in death.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is kylo-trash-squad if you want to scream @ me


End file.
